


even dust was made to settle

by babytriumphant



Series: welcome to chicago, where you are from [2]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Oblique discussion of the PODs / mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babytriumphant/pseuds/babytriumphant
Summary: They have landed, and things are different. Peanutiel Duffy has a conversation with his teammate, Peanut Holloway.
Relationships: Peanutiel Duffy & Peanut Holloway
Series: welcome to chicago, where you are from [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935640
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27
Collections: We Are Fanwork Creators





	even dust was made to settle

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sleeping at Last's The Projectionist. Alternate summary: two bros chilling and eating bad Chinese food because they've gone through similar life experience and are commiserating.

The roof of the Firehouse is cold and lonely, the gleaming red star that shines over Slears Tower half-hidden by low-lying clouds, heavy with the promise of snow. Lake effect, Baby had said, with a wrinkle of her nose.

Peanutiel wraps his arms around his knees. He had taken a course in college, before he had gone for his CPA, about earth science and meteorology. He had known, vaguely, what the lake effect was, knew about the snow that Canadian winds brought to Midwestern shores, but the knowledge of basic earthly weather patterns had paled in comparison to the seasons he’d spent watching the blaseball forecast, dimmed further by the time he had spent not caring about much at all. It’s nice, in the long lull of the siesta, to look at the clouds and know they don’t hold a rain of peanuts, that they don’t disguise the descent of an enormous, corrugated collagen carapace—

“Hello,” a voice says as the roof access door creaks open. “Peanutiel.”

Peanutiel glances over. Holloway is hovering there, a cloud of little peanuts like an iron-filing magnetic field tracing the lines of his existence. “Peanut,” Peanutiel says. “It is going to snow.”

“Yes. It will be good.”

“It will be good,” Peanutiel agrees, and bites down hard on the end of his tongue when his voice wants to say ‘blessed thanks be upon the Shelled One’.

Holloway settles next to Peanutiel, his swirling-peanut legs crossing into an undefinable mass. They haven’t spoken since they descended, since the plummet to the City. Despite the City’s novelty Peanutiel likely could navigate to the crater he had left when he had impacted the earth, the place where the Firefighters had broken his shell apart and he had emerged, shivering, into the autumn air, his single pair of human eyes readjusting to the light as he had left his shell behind. It had been worse, he thinks, than emerging from the field of eggs when this all started, because at least then he had been halfway expecting it. The first strike of Rivers Rosa’s axe into his shell had been an unwelcome, unwanted intrusion into his safe darkness. Holloway had not required extrication, but Peanutiel understands that his descent had been much more troubling; even now the traces of the Shelled One’s influence linger in the form of the legumes hovering in Holloway’s swirling gravitational fields.

“Query,” Holloway says.

“Acknowledged,” Peanutiel says. His legs are starting to fall asleep, going numb and prickly. He had felt nothing of the sort while within his shell—had felt nothing but a soft, blissful peace, glory be—

“Are you alright?” Holloway asks.

He pauses. “Clarification requested,” Peanutiel says. He shifts, rubbing his human hands over his human thighs, clad in the ‘sweatpants’ Declan had lent him. They are too big for him, and bunch in somewhat uncomfortable ways. The prickle in his legs does not disperse. Chicago is so much less comfortable than the Shell had been, in so many ways, and he resents it and appreciates it in equal but opposite ways he does not have the words to define. “Parameters uncertain.”

“Do you require mental or physical support in this moment?” Holloway clarifies. “Or food. I noticed you did not arrive to communal feeding. This is troubling.”

Peanutiel considers this. “I do not require mental or physical support,” he responds, slowly. “Or, simply, I do not believe I require such input. Company would perhaps not go unwanted. I have not fed.”

Holloway shifts, producing a plastic bag. It smells of cheap Chinese food and also, somewhat, of the brownies Joshua had been baking. “The Thai cuisine purchased by Baby Triumphant contained peanuts I found I could not stomach,” Holloway says, by way of explanation. Peanutiel wonders why Baby Triumphant had purchased food items containing peanuts when the team was largely allergic to them, but Baby Triumphant is difficult to decipher and often acts in contrary ways, so he sets the query aside. “So I went to the restaurant Panda Express. A slight miscommunication resulted in the acquisition of more food than I could realistically consume. But I could not—” and here Holloway’s normally steady voice falters, going uncertain. “I could not express that I had made an error. I did not understand what the repercussions of such an error would be. So I purchased all of the food. And now I have slightly too much.”

“I could provide monetary compensation for this meal,” Peanutiel says. He has enough budget remaining for eating out left this month. “It would not be a hardship.”

“Such compensation is not required,” Holloway says dismissively. “Consider the company more than recompense enough.”

“Query,” Peanutiel says.

“Acknowledged.”

“Why?” Peanutiel asks, and when Holloway shifts and is about to respond, hastens to clarify. “Why do you wish to accompany me now? I am uncertain as to the parameters of this interaction. We are teammates but this is beyond the boundaries of typical team interaction.”

“This is not beyond the bounds of typical Firefighters interaction,” Holloway says, voice level as he pulls the plastic bowls out of the thin bag. “The Firefighters perform many similar interactions on a daily basis. As we are both now Firefighters I see no illogic within this interaction. Query.”

“Acknowledged,” Peanutiel says, even though Holloway’s answer is unsatisfactory to the nth degree and he has further queries.

“Would you prefer orange or General Tso’s chicken?”

“Return query.”

“Acknowledged.”

“What is your spice tolerance? This will inform my decision.”

“Admittedly low,” Holloway says, and considers the two bowls. “I understand your line of reasoning. If I am to consume the spicy food it will be detrimental to me, so you are willing to eat the spicy food due to your presumed higher spice tolerance.”

“Your reasoning is correct,” Peanutiel says. “I will eat the General Tso’s.”

Holloway hands him a cellophane-wrapped set of compostable utensils. Peanutiel carefully unfolds his napkin and tucks it into his lap, balancing the bowl of General Tso’s chicken and fried rice on his legs. It is warm between his hands, indicating its recent acquisition. Peanutiel mentally turns over his interaction with Holloway, searching for any fault in the progression of events, finds none, and comes to the conclusion that Holloway must have immediately thought to bring extra food to the teammate who had not been present at communal feeding.

It is a pleasant gesture.

“Query,” Peanutiel says, tentatively.

Holloway chews and swallows. Fascinatingly, Peanutiel cannot view the food Holloway chews and swallows after it enters his mouth, but the peanuts floating within his form give some illusion of three-dimensional space. “Acknowledged,” Holloway says, and spears the next piece of chicken on his fork.

“Do you like snow?”

Holloway considers this, eating another piece of chicken. Peanutiel, at the scent of food and the tactile warmth of it, finds himself hungrier than he had anticipated, and cautiously begins to eat. “It has been some time since I witnessed snow,” Holloway says. “I enjoyed it in Philadelphia. However, I have come to understand that snow here is somewhat different than in Pennsylvania. I suspect this will inform my enjoyment.”

“Interesting,” Peanutiel says. The conditional enjoyment of something presupposing certain geographical factors is an interesting concept. “There was not much snow in Hades.”

“Query.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Do you miss Hades?”

Peanutiel shuffles aside a dried pepper of some kind, and then squints up at the sky again. “Perhaps,” he says. “Unclear. There are other things I miss more.”

“The unity.”

It is not a query. Peanutiel answers as if it is one anyway. “Yes,” he says. “It was simpler. There was less demand for moral consideration of my actions, and I had less or no concern for my own physical wellbeing. It is very different here.”

“It is a change,” Holloway agrees, voice quiet. “I enjoy it.”

“It will be good,” Peanutiel says. “I am uncertain about my current state. However. I remain optimistic.”

“That is good. Optimism is good. I enjoy the feeling of hope.”

Peanutiel agrees with this sentiment, but does not say so. Instead, he continues to consume his chicken. The night draws colder as the wind begins to pick up. “Excuse me briefly,” Holloway says, and disappears briefly into the Firehouse. Peanutiel considers his abandoned orange chicken and the fortune cookies they had quietly split, and then switches the two cookies for no particular reason except for the excuse to use his human hands more. Holloway returns with a pair of heavy quilts, presumably made by Caleb. One is patterned similarly to the large stained glass window in the fire truck bay, the one featuring generations and generations of firefighters, unnamed and unremarkable save for the fact that they were depicted performing valorous acts of service.

It is a strange feeling, to be conscripted into a new purpose, and to know that this purpose is to explicitly help rather than harm. It is a good feeling, Peanutiel thinks.

Holloway offers this quilt to Peanutiel; he wraps it around his own shoulders gratefully. Holloway’s quilt has several whales on it.

“Thank you,” Peanutiel says.

“No thanks required,” Holloway says.

They finish their meals in silence. Peanutiel nests his empty container within Holloway’s, and they both wrap their quilts tighter as the first flakes of snow begin to fall, melting as soon as they make contact with the roof or their quilts or the ground. Peanutiel cautiously tips his head back and sticks out his tongue, and flinches when a snowflake lands on his nose instead of his tongue.

Peanutiel feels his face heat for this error, but Holloway does not acknowledge it. Instead, Holloway clears his throat.

“Query,” Holloway says.

“Acknowledged,” Peanutiel says, brow furrowing.

“Do you recall our names? Before?”

Peanutiel casts his mind back. “I—” He tries to summon it up, but the name will not come to mind, no matter how hard he rifles through his memory, certain there must be something there. He is forced to a conclusion, though. “No,” he admits, frustrated.

Peanut Holloway sighs, sounding defeated. “I do not either.”

“Query.” 

“Acknowledged.”

“Do you want it back?”

“It feels selfish,” Holloway says. “A rejection of divinity. The idea rankles. I do not believe it is the will of the Shelled One, despite its defeat, that we recover our original names, and I feel an acute sense of repulsion at the idea that I should want something other than what the Shelled One desires for me.”

“That is not a response.”

Holloway sighs. “Yes,” he admits. The word is quiet. “I want it back.”

It is a simple statement, perhaps too simple, verging on childish. Peanutiel understands it perfectly, down to the impulsive core of it. “Me too,” Peanutiel says.

“Final query,” Holloway says. 

“Acknowledged.”

“Do you think we will find it again?”

“I do not know for certain whether we will find it,” Peanutiel says. “Unlike certain blaseball players, we are not precognizant. However. I have heard that optimism is good. Therefore I believe we will, someday.”

Holloway is invisible; Peanutiel cannot tell whether he is physically smiling. However, there is a warmth to his voice that had not been present earlier. “Indeed,” Holloway says. “Optimism is good. Thank you, Peanutiel.”

“You are welcome, Peanut,” Peanutiel says, and pauses. “Perhaps we should consider using these interaction parameters again.”

“Perhaps. I think I would like that.”

“I think I would like that as well.”

“However, next time you should purchase the food. My wallet is only so deep, figuratively.”

Peanutiel laughs, surprising himself, and tips his head back to consider the slowly spiraling flakes. “Indeed,” Peanutiel says. “I shall.”


End file.
